


A Certain Vernacular

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Qun, Tal-Vashoth, slow-burn romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:22:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3604857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisition forms a temporary alliance with a band of Tal-Vashoth and gain the companionship of a former Saarebas, still uncomfortable with her freedom. Iron Bull Greatly Disapproves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sons of Keer

“A bunch of crazy motherfuckers,” the Iron Bull grumbled as they stepped into the Tal-Vashoth camp. Inquisitor Cadash elected to ignore his bickering, and perhaps rightly so; he was no longer the only giant man in her vicinity and she had much focus to expend on not being stepped on or worse. Her hand stayed over her dagger and she walked past several open tents without looking too closely at anybody. Malika broke her silent vow of staying eye contact when she glanced upon a horned, grey child playing with mounds of sand in the road. The little one blinked and stared before returning to the earth between his filthy fingers.

                Cassandra scowled around, disturbed by the presence of so many mostly-naked armed men. Only vitaar and undecorated hides kept a few from being utterly shameless. The women, when one could be spotted, were not much more conservative. Toplessness and body-paint were as prevalent as braids and earrings for them, and this apparently was acceptable. The only hint of things being out of place was a general discomfort in the body language of those who dared look upon the Inquisition. “They hardly look fit to help themselves, let alone serve in the Inquisition,” the seeker hissed. But when she was ignored, she changed her tone towards Cadash. “Perhaps we ought not to answer their request. Whatever they want, there’s no chance they could repay the resulting debt.”

                Bull nodded. “It’s dangerous here, too. They’re as likely to have brought us here to kill us as anything. We might be best turning back, Boss.”

                Malika turned slightly to glance into his one weary eye. The Ben-Hassrath was determined to observe every movement, every oddity, lest he fail in his duties in protecting the Inquisitor. She cleared her throat. “I’m going to look into this. Whatever they need, whatever they wanted to exchange with us, it’s worth at least hearing out. If things go wrong, then we can worry.”

                “I’ll start worrying now, thanks.”

                Cole, fading in and out of their peripherals, walked without so much a nervous hunch in his shoulders. “ _The stars are rising on the horizon tonight; a good day to ask her if she wants to be asked. If she doesn’t? Unthinkable, but thinkable. Red on her lips, hair up, she hums like summertime. Decorated for something, maybe for me. Maybe for somebody else. Hopefully for me._ ”

                “It sounds like they have other things on their mind than us,” the dwarf responded. There was a tent of dyed red that stood taller than the rest, but no entry on this side. They had to follow the circular path around. Iron Bull stalked the roadway with the stress of a caged tiger. Cassandra, like Cadash, kept her weapon under hand.

                The young spirit nodded. “Yes. They all think of things, but few look at us. _Two more gold, a copper, three silver to go with the caravans into Orlais. Fresh bread and chives, spices, like the ones that used to burn my throat, burn my stomach and make me strong. Two, one, and three silver, maybe for the heart, maybe I’d give the heart in my chest for that burning._ They’re thinking about other things on purpose.” He looked around, briefly noticing the jittered glance of a woman working a loom. “ _If I don’t see them, they won’t be here. More red wool, more red strings for the skirts and boot hems. If I don’t look, they can be gone faster. More plants for the dye, sending the children out later to fetch it when we know they’re gone again._ ”

                “The longer these people feel uncomfortable, the worse our chances get,” Cassandra muttered. “Let’s get this over with. Cole, cease your speaking lest they worry more. Qunari are not fond of things they think magical.”

                “Right,” he murmured, backing away from her a bit and standing nearer the middle of the pathway.

                Iron Bull did not have time to remind everybody they were “not Qunari” before Cadash cleared her throat and looked upon a man with a greatsword strapped to his back who stood unwaveringly outside the red tent. “I’m looking for the Sons of Keer.”

                He nodded and unfolded his arms. Unlike many of his compatriots, he was fully armored. His vitaar was simpler; just a few white streaks along his chin and cheeks that contrasted his especially dark skin. He was not an unattractive man. Horns well-maintained, hair brushed clean, healthy in every sense. Yet he looked not quite right, perhaps out of unease, or perhaps fatigue. He moved as if there was a great weight on his chest and just below his eyes, always leading from the front but bending low. He knelt partially to shake Malika’s hand. “I am the one who sent you the letter, Inquisitor. I apologize for the unprofessional location. There are few safe places for my people, and it seemed more natural to await you in a Refugee Camp than out on the road.”

                “It’s fine. Let’s just get to business.” She shook his hand with all the strength one could expect from a woman of power. Malika was not one to disappoint.

                He pushed the tent flap open and allowed them all inside, a wary eye on the Iron Bull. It was mutual. The Ben-Hassrath agent made a point of bumping shoulders with the other man, though it produced no evident reaction.

                Inside they found a table with many surrounding chairs. Some were already taken, but one side was left entirely open and had four available positions. Cadash took one of the middle spots, with a warrior on either side. Cole appeared to have not come in with the rest of them, but nobody made much bother about that; he would go where he would go. If the Tal-Vashoth minded his absence, they made no show of it; they were hardly in a position to argue against the Inquisition and their people. The man from before stood by his chair without sitting.

                “I am Wyrm. We before you are the Sons of Keer. For decades we have been hunters of beasts and monsters. Beside me is Varg, and here, Lind.” Varg was a qunari with black hair, feathers dangling from the knots. He had scars across his crooked nose. It whistled a little when he exhaled. Lind was a well-dressed woman, her horns trimmed round but still long enough to grow past the back of her head. Her square chin vibrated, as if she meant to speak but then thought better of it.

                There were others at the table, but evidently they did not yet need to be spoken of. An elf woman with dark skin, light hair, and a self-important sneer had her feet resting up on the table. There was a shorter Tal-Vashoth man in furs who was keen on staring at the seeker, his expression caught in unsubtle appraisal. And finally, there was a redheaded woman next to the elf who looked at nothing but the table, wore a thick armored collar and a golden mask.

                “You have an awful lot of women in your group to be called the ‘Sons” of anything.”

                Wyrm smiled. “In battle, all women are as men are. In art, all men are as women. Once, the Sons of Keer were all men, and we keep the tradition alive through name rather than practice.”

                “I see.” Malika gestured from companion to companion. “This is Cassandra, a Seeker, a powerful warrior.”

                The staring man spoke up. “Pentaghast, right?” He was met with her icy glare, but brushed it off easily. “Nevarra’s line of dragon hunters, Pentaghast. I thought you might be one.”

                “That really has nothing to do with me,” she lied, shifting.

                He grinned at her, cheeks a little pink. “If you insist. Though I bet you would look as the legends must have with your sword through a beast’s skull.”

                Cassandra scoffed, face redder. Cadash rolled her eyes and stifled a giggle. “And this is the Iron Bull.”

                “I know.”

                The dwarf looked up to find the Ben-Hassrath and the Son of Keer glaring at one another, their gazes locked as fiercely as if they intended to choke one another with sight alone. Tense fingers turned a shade lighter as they gripped the table or the back of a chair respectively. The other Sons leaned away from their leader, themselves surprised by his intensity. Malika tried to nudge Iron Bull, to make him stop. “I wondered where you managed to escape to. It’s not usually my policy to let Tal-Vashoth escape, but once an Ashaad always and Ashaad; you were a quick bastard.”

                “I am lucky of that at least.” Wyrm, at least, took note of the looks he was getting. Lind ran her hand over his knee and he finally took his seat. “I am not here to argue the duties of a life I have abandoned. Forgive me, Inquisitor.”

                Malika nodded and elbowed Bull again. He barely moved. “It’s fine. If you don’t mind, I would like to ask some questions. I’ve never seen so many Tal-Vashoth before.”

                “Not all of us are truly grey,” Wyrm made an attempt at relaxing. “Harel has never seen a day of the Qun; she was a Dalish first, and now she is only Harel.” The dark-skinned elf waved at the dwarf, as casual as before. “Varg is only Vashoth. His parents saw the Qun, but not he. The same can be said of many living in this Camp.”

                “But they’re all Refugees?”

                “Yes. There are countless spies around, any number of Ben-Hassrath agents who would betray their location to the Qun and have them taken to Par Vollen or Seheron. So many have never seen those shores to begin with, but it would be the same treatment for them. In such a large community, even should enemies find us, they would have difficulty forming an assault. Other former Ben-Hassrath recognized your friend, and I knew his arrival ahead of time. It has been a great risk to bring you to this place.”

                The dwarf glanced at Iron Bull again, who was shifting and resting his back, sinking closer to his relaxing-in-the-tavern position. “If you’re worried about me putting this in a report, you can relax. I’m willing to let this go undocumented if this is a worthwhile meeting, and I doubt the Qun would be able to do much against your people anyways.”

                “I should hope as much.” Wyrm dug into a pouch that hung over Varg’s shoulder, taking out a rolled up length of parchment. He spread it on the table, revealing a map of southeast Orlais and southwest Fereldan, the Refugee camp was denoted on it with a pictograph of a rising bird. “We can discuss business whenever you are ready. Is there more you wished to ask, Inquisitor.”

                The woman nodded and stared at the map while she talked, wondering what they were going to have to make sense of. “Iron Bull called you Ashaad. Did you not want to keep that name when you left the Qun?”

                “An ashaad is a scout. In the Beresaad… In my unit, I was tasked with exploring far ahead and understanding the approaching world.” Wyrm glanced at Lind. She smiled in a way that reassured him. “From always being ahead, I developed a curiosity of the world, and when I saw my chance to leave the Qun, I took it for want of freedom and exploration all my own. Times were not always easy; I was hunted in Seheron until I managed to catch my way out stowing away on a merchant ship. I since came to Orlais, met the Sons of Keer as they were in my day, and worked here since. I am no longer a scout by function, so it makes no sense to be known as Ashaad. I chose the name Wyrm for myself after my first wyvern-hunt.”

                Cassandra coughed loudly, drawing attention to the man who was still shooting her occasional puppy-glances. Lind tugged his ear and he started to behave better.

                Iron Bull raised a brow. “That… was awfully smooth of you.”

                “Quill is like a child sometimes,” she had a small voice, in every aspect feminine. There was no warrior-pride in her tone, no indication that she was more than a civilian. “I was once a Tamassran. I raised dozens to be the finest they could be, and I loved them in an emotional way. But even the best children need discipline.”

                The Inquisition’s resident Qunari was suddenly uncomfortable, feeling as if he had misbehaved in front of his own Tama. He sat more quietly now, forcing himself to be subdued and decently-mannered. Cadash was relieved for this and noted the way the tension in the room dropped. “How does a Tamassran become Tal-Vashoth?”

                “It was not entirely my idea to leave the Qun. I had heard that one of my former Imekari had defected, and I thought I could turn his soul back to us. Instead, I found myself wanting for what I had never had before. My own children, who would never be passed to somebody else; my own Kadan to cherish and admire; I even wanted silly things, like new clothes and books. By luck, I think, I eluded the Antaam. In my aimlessness, I found the Sons, and Wyrm.” The two cast shy glances at one another, Wyrm the first to become cowardly and cast his vision elsewhere.

                The elf gagged and playfully punched the masked qunari’s arm. She jumped a bit, then settled and rubbed her arm.

                “I think I understand.” Cadash pointed at the map. “So, this looks important. What did we come here for, anyways?”

                Wyrm nodded and stood to run his finger down the river marked on the paper. “This is a hunting ground we typically use to go after smaller drakes. They feast here commonly, and the riverbed spreads just wide and shallow enough for them to comfortably fish. They are apparently not the only ones. We recently had to abandon the idea of hunting here when an old fort…” He tapped where he remembered the rubble-ruin to have been. “... was repurposed by a troop of knights with glowing red around them.”

                “Are you certain of this?” Cassandra stood and looked at the location. “Fort Levilis, I think. It was a brief Imperium-Fort, never was much of a success. It might as well be a footnote in history; almost irrelevant. I only recall because Scout Harding mentioned it during the original survey the Inquisition performed for the region.”

                The Son of Keer nodded. “I have never bothered to know the name. Regardless, I am certain of their presence. They also appeared to be making an attempt at damming the river, but I cannot imagine for what purpose. Rumors from some of the other Tal-Vashoth have said some of the Inquisition’s scouts were seen once going towards the area but not returning.”

                “I haven’t heard anything about missing soldiers,” Cadash said.

                “Neither have I.”

                Iron Bull crossed his arms. “We might have some spies in our midst, then. Leiliana is going to be pissed when she gets word of this.”

                “It’s why we asked to meet in person instead of sending a warning by letter,” Varg said, his nose whistling. “Corruption within your forces is as dangerous for you as it is us. We would be able to fight off small bands of mercenaries and a few of the Qun’s units, but your army is different. If not for the presence of so many un-leashed mages and Templars in your organization, you would have many Tal-Vashoth supporters here.”

                “What a shame,” Bull muttered, eye rolling.

                Varg glared. Another nose whistle as his nostril flared. “Nonetheless, you are feared, Inquisitor. Nobody will pretend to be able to stand against you if you should see us as an enemy. Your willingness to overlook the Tal-Vashoth so far has been appreciated, and the Sons of Keer would repay you for your lenience.”

                Cadash waved her hand and those who stood took their seats. “It’s not necessary to thank me for that. Right now, we need to focus on how we’re going to take care of a potentially big problem.” She closed her hands together, crossed her arms, and leaned back. It was quiet for a moment as she considered, but Wyrm interrupted the process.

                “I would like to send some of my members with you. They know the route to the fort and have long been in favor of your Inquisition. And…” Lind rubbed his knee again and he swallowed. “For Katari especially, I think it would be safest she leave the Camp and travel with those who would better help her to grow and remain safe. It isn’t something we can provide with our small group, and it is not something that can be accepted by all Tal-Vashoth.”

                It was the redhead’s turn to squirm. The former Saarebas wore the remains of her past on her face and around her shoulders. The Iron Bull took the sight in entirely, though he had already mapped every important detail in case she had decided to become dangerous. Steadiness and stillness, not a hint of rebellion in anything. She was not unthinking, though, so surely she had never known the devastation of qamek. So, in spite of these surroundings, this Saarebas was Saarebas still. It was hard for Bull to conceive the idea of such a submissive thing fighting off her Arvaarad and leaving; he suspected that wasn’t even the case.

                The Ben-Hassrath put on his poker face and leaned back, scratching his chin. “Forgive me if I’m not too sure about being around somebody whose very namesake is bringing death.”

                “The name was not her choice.” Wyrm silenced him quickly, voice raised a bit too high. “Anything gentler and she would be attacked, I am certain.” He looked the Inquisitor in the eye. Malika raised a brow. “The others won’t give you trouble, but I understand not wanting for the presence of another mage. I would ask you with all my soul, Inquisitor. Will you take Katari with you?”

                “Not a chance,” Iron Bull almost laughed.

                “Yes.”

                “What?” He looked down at his tiny boss in disbelief. It was one thing to bring Vashoth along, another to bring Tal-Vashoth. But an actual Saarebas? A disaster waiting to happen.

                Malika Cadash ignored his confusion and went on to seal the deal with the Sons of Keer. Iron Bull huffed and stayed to himself, his eye always leading back to the masked woman, and her gaze never falling upon anyone at all.


	2. Cultural Barrier

Solas watched from the doorway, barely making room for a grumbling Iron Bull to stand behind him. Both men breathed heavy sighs in the cold air of Skyhold for very similar reasons.

                “I suppose you are pleased to see one of your own?” The elf raised a brow at Bull, who frowned down at him. “I never expected to actually meet a saarebas in my lifetime. Perhaps it makes no difference; she is exactly as the Qun would have her.”

                “If you think I’m all joy and smiles about this, you’re as blind as you are bald.” He folded his arms and looked out into the sparsely-populated mess hall.

                There sat Katari. She was always a number of paces behind Cadash, unless the dwarf asked her to do otherwise. It was like watching a dog, and the Saarebas had far less self than that in their eyes. All that left her distinct from the Qun identity was the absence of an Arvaarad and the presence of a staff. “This girl is going to create problems. I know the boss doesn’t see it yet, but I’ve seen my share of Saarebas. They snap, they go crazy, they let their magic grow out of control, and they hurt people. _Lots_ of people.”

                The elf glared up a little before returning his gaze to the newcomer. “Let us not pretend it would be entirely her fault should she go mad. Her culture has given her nothing else, after all. It is a miracle she has even survived this far.”

                “More like a nightmare.”

                The Saarebas, a bit tall even for a woman of her race, sat down across from Inquisitor Cadash. It seemed, at first, a good idea to keep the elf from the Sons of Keer around. But Harel—yes, that was her name—had to fulfill the duties of scouting the fort with what few volunteers could be scraped together for the emergency. The Chargers had filled most of the spaces, and otherwise just a few regular soldiers. The issue came, however, that there was nobody around to speak for this odd, masked mage.

                Malika crunched on some bread and watched the Tal-Vashoth refuse to eat much of anything. “Do you not like the food here?”

                She hunched her shoulders and shook her head, but did not reply. It had been like this all day. Cadash was losing her patience with this matter. “You understand the common tongue, right? I hear a lot of Qunari don’t know it well. If it’s going to be a problem, I can find somebody around to translate for you.” She shot a glare at Iron Bull, who pulled away behind the doorframe. His horns were not entirely hidden there.

                Katari swallowed. “I speak sometimes. I know some. It… is usually enough.”

                “Ah, so you do speak.” Finally, a good development. Malika straightened her back and looked up at the woman. Didn’t have to look high; the saarebas had a mighty slouch. “Well… Katari… Why don’t you want to eat?”

                “I have no hunger.” She folded her hands in her lap, fidgeting with the joints of her digits. “I eat little. I speak little. I am sorry.”

                “No, no you don’t need to apologize.” Cadash sighed, frustrated. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I normally don’t do this kind of thing. Fuck…”

                “Perhaps I might be of assistance?” Solas gathered the will to approach at last, feeling the situation was understood. And Malika was grateful. It was not so much that she disliked this woman than she didn’t understand her at all. Nobody in the Carta was so quiet. Almost no one in the Inquisition was, either. The spaces between words, the staring; it made her skin itch from spine to heel. “Katari, was it?”

                “Yes.”

                He took a seat and looked her good and in the eyes, behind the golden mask. She averted her gaze immediately, choosing to stare at the floor instead. “I hope you do not mind speaking with me. I hardly believe you to be a conversationalist even in your native tongue, but it can be especially pleasant to meet new people on good terms when in new places.” He smiled a little, but she did not return the gesture. Solas had expected as much. “I have not known your people before, but I have been meaning to make some inquiries. Have you experienced much of the Fade?”

                “Fade?” She thought for a moment. “The Hissra? Dreaming?”

                “Yes, precisely.”

                Katari nodded, and at that moment Malika decided to take her leave. It was enough for her to hold the Anchor. A dwarf did not need so much interaction with the veil, even in conversation if it could be helped. “I have gone. I have seen.”

                “Yet likely not in the way Circle Mage undergoes a Harrowing. Bound, mouth sewn shut, and controlled. Have you have much opportunity in your lifetime to walk in those places?”

                “Yes.” She nodded. “Sometimes. I have been Saarebas. Also, I have been Tal-Vashoth. Tal-Vashoth do not have those rules.” When Solas nodded to her, Katari considered what to say next. “I know little. Only a scratch on stone.”

                Solas smiled more genuinely. “It is refreshing to see such humility regarding the subject.” From there he filled the silence, speaking at length with her as she nodded and made brief agreements to his statements.

                Malika punched Iron Bull in the thigh as she passed. “Ah! What the hell, Boss?”

                “What do you mean, ‘What the Hell’? You’ve been avoiding her all day. If anybody here was going to make things more comfortable, it should have been you.”

                “Okay, listen, because I don’t think you understand this concept. She is _Tal-Vashoth_. I _hunted_ Tal-Vashoth. I’m the last person here you want talking to that woman. I mean it, Boss. I get the language barrier and cultural stuff can get weird, but that would be putting a kitten in a pit with a dragon; even a nice dragon.”

                “Are you the dragon in this analogy? Or is she?”

                “I am, obviously.”

                “Bull, are you sure it’s because she’s Tal-Vashoth? Or is it because she’s a Saarebas?”

                He sighed. “I don’t have anything against mages. And I don’t have anything against Saarebas, either. They spend their whole lives suffering, and I can admire anybody who bears that weight. I feel bad about the whole thing, yeah, but that’s the way Koslun wanted it so that’s the way it is. But that girl, that Katari? She’s Tal-Vashoth. She’s a dangerous animal and she’s loose on us now. I think it would be best we send her back to her mercenary group before anything happens.”

                “You sound afraid.”

                “Of course I’m afraid!” He glared. “Mages attract demons when they aren’t stable enough, right? Well mages like that are _never_ stable and they’re a huge liability. Keep her lurking around here, no matter how nice and helpful you find her, and we’re gonna have all kinds of shit trying to kill us. Somebody’s gonna lose an eye, Boss, and I can’t afford for it to be me.”

                Cadash gave him a ‘final warning’ look, finger pointed at his nose. “Bull, you’re going to have to get over this. She’s staying until further notice. At least try to make nice.”

                He scowled and let the dwarf leave before looking back into that quiet Mess Hall. Solas wove tales of aetherial places as Katari nodded and sometimes smiled. Those sawn-off horns, the uncomfortable twitching of her hands, the angle of her shoulders, the curve of her back right above the hips, the little bit of skin exposed on her midsection, her red hair…

                “A bad idea,” he muttered and stalked back to Herald’s Rest.


	3. Misunderstanding

“You need to stand somewhere else.”

                Katari side-stepped to get out of Iron Bull’s way, but the look he was giving told her she was still too near. The mage wrinkled her nose and took another step, moving herself firmly to Cadash’s other side, lurking too close to Cole for their formation to be effective.

                It was just as well. They were only out on a short errand in the Hinterlands and had yet to encounter even a bear. A few goats, sure, and a fennec. But no danger. The dwarf went about herb-gathering, message-delivering, and other menial tasks as her uncooperative companions trailed behind.

                The Tal-Vashoth bumped her elbow against Cole and jumped back, jittering. He smiled at her and waved his hand low. “I’m not hurt, and you didn’t mean to. You don’t have to be scared all the time.”

                She shifted, shy, and then fell back into place. Iron Bull made coughing sounds. “Listen, Cole. I wouldn’t get too attached if I was you.”

                “ _Murmurs in the dark, scratching, scritching, horn itch but I can’t move the blankets. ‘The Antaam will stop the dangerous thing, go back to sleep’ but how can I sleep with a shadow outside? Fangs, eyes, the blood, the scarred lips and claws like knives._ ” Cole shook his head. “It’s not her, the Iron Bull.”

                “Yeah, good luck convincing him, Cole,” Malika grumbled. “I gave it my shot.”

                “I wasn’t _planning_ on shooting him,” Cole clarified. He turned to Katari instead. “He is only scared of nightmares. It’s not really you, but they are also you. They have your face.”

                Katari nodded. “Fear is fine.”

                The Iron Bull seethed, his hands locked on knife-handles and other weapons he didn’t need to draw, just thinking calming thoughts to himself. He could gut her in a minute if she turned. As long as she was there, out of his blind spot. “And that’s another thing! I get it, you were a Saarebas. _Fine_. But you talk like you aren’t a true, grey sonovabitch with a vendetta against the Qun. I’m getting damn tired of that act.”

                The mage, in her first sign of protest, stopped dead in the road. Malika did not notice right away and moved ahead, but Cole was right at her side, and the Iron Bull prepared for his inevitable standoff with the beast. ‘ _Sorry Boss_ ,’ he thought. ‘ _But this treaty wasn’t going to work out anyways_.’

                “I never asked for this.” She stared at his feet, fists balled up tight. “Some want to leave the Qun. I did not want to leave it. I am here. I am Tal-Vashoth. You are here. You are not.” Katari swallowed hard and clenched her teeth. It was apparent only then, barring her fangs, that she had quite a gap between her two, top, front teeth. Bull could not help but stare at that little characteristic, even as she grew more upset.  “ _You should be grateful._ ”

                “Excuse me?” He dared to walk closer and watched as she crumpled up into herself. Saarebas were submissive things, more likely to flee from direct conflict than fight. “You think I should be grateful to you? What? For not unleashing your wrath on me, Saarebas?”

                “No!” She had to keep backing up and drawing lower to the ground, ever inch nearer to kneeling. Cole tried to pull Iron Bull back by the arm, and Malika was yelling for them to quit, but nothing halted the approach. “Be grateful you still have a home!”

                He stopped.

                What in the name of the Salasari was he doing? Antagonizing this broken creature was unwise and unfair. He sighed and pursed his lips before finally offering Katari a hand. She was on hands and knees before him, though, with her masked forehead pressed into the dirt. For shit’s sake… He withdrew the hand and Cole went to her side instead, petting her head. He sat on his knees and watched the dwarf run up.

                She kicked Iron Bull in the shin, but it didn’t have much of an effect. “What the fuck! You didn’t need to do that! She didn’t do anything, Bull!”

                “I know, I know.” He forced himself to calm down, even though he was still feeling warm and tense. The Qunari leaned back to straighten his spine and put his hands on his hips, away from the small weapons. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to go this far.”

                “Don’t apologize to _me_.” Cadash pointed to Katari, her fingers curling in the dirt.

                Cole finished petting her head. “ _Down. Nothing but down, beg with glances, sway of shoulder. Black boots, gray skirt, if he has to do it, please now while I’m ready but too smart for that, just give up. ‘Just give up’. ‘Nehraa kost’._ ” The spirit leaned further down to check her face as she rose. “ _Meraad itwasit_.”

                “Meraad itwasit,” she confirmed and stood at last, arms locked at her side and shoulders hunched as high as her collar would allow. Iron Bull brushed his fingers over her left shoulder. She was tall for a woman, yes, but still nowhere near his height or weight. If not for magic, she might have appeared fragile. Iron Bull thought he knew better.

                He nodded to nobody, Cadash still glaring and Cole holding Katari’s dirty, shaking hand from behind. “I’m sorry, Saarebas. I never meant to push you that far. It was a misunderstanding.”

                She shuttered and looked into his eyes. There were pinpricks of tears on her lashes. “Men like you are never sorry for misunderstanding.”

                Iron Bull recoiled a bit as the rest of the group walked on ahead, leaving him in the dog house with no solace save the sway of Katari’s hips returning to calm after a time passed, and her frequent smiles as Cole chattered about unknown things.


	4. A Matter of Dragons

Iron Bull, heart filled with triumph and battle-pride, practically kicked the tavern door in, his laughter echoing through the rafters. “How about one for the war hero?!” he called, thumb jammed into his own chest. “Who wants to buy a drink for a Ben-Hassrath?”

                “Pay your own tab for once, Chief,” Krem said, knocking his boss in the shoulder. “You’ll bleed us dry as quick as the Venatori.”

                “Nah, I bet they’d go easy on a fellow Vint.” He shoved Krem back and grinned broadly. “What’s the run-down? Chargers successful? I expected you’d be back from that fort a lot quicker.”

                Cremisius Aclassi ran a hand through his hair and sighed, his other set of fingers still wrapped tightly around his drink. “It got a little complicated, actually. Looks like they’re going to have to send a real force out to Levilis. We managed to get out without any casualties, but Stitches is working round-the-clock with some of the other healers, trying to save some burn victims. One guy’s gonna lose his whole leg. Nasty stuff, Chief.”

                Bull nodded. “Could have been worse. What happened? Red Templars don’t have much for mages, so the fire came from…?”

                “The dragon, mostly?”

                His face lit up in several shades of inappropriate joy. Krem sighed; there was no hope in trying to circumvent that kind of excitement. “You fuckers saw a dragon? Well?! Tell me about her! What was happening?”

                “She was… big,” Krem confirmed, unnerved by how watchful that one, wide eye was on him. “Nasty attitude. Took right to attacking when she saw us, so we bailed before getting a look at the nest or traveling too far towards the fortress. That elf girl the Tal-Vashoth sent with us? Harel? Said it used to be the sort that hunted downriver. Probably the dam was put in to change its hunting ground.”

                Bull nodded. “Either the reds are trying to get to something she was too close to, or they have plans to use her and wanted a conveniently-placed dragon.” He finally stepped out of the doorway, though nobody else was coming in anyways. Just politeness, that was all. “It’s good nobody got killed out there. Bet the leg guy feels differently right now, but what can you do?”

                “Not much. Commander Cullen is trying to set up for an assault on the fort, but nobody is sure yet if we’re going to have to plow through the dragon, or go around it.” Krem motioned outside. “Sons of Keer mercenaries, though? They’re providing all the help they can. Sounds like they want to take the glory of killing it themselves, if they get the chance.”

                “The day I let a Tal-Vashoth take my killing-blow against a dragon is the day I sprout a tail and hooves.” He snorted, nostrils flaring. “I’ll have a talk with Cullen. The Chargers could handle it; we’re a bigger group, anyways.”

                “Yeah, but Chief, they have a lot of experience with drakes and wyverns and shit. I’d rather leave it to the professionals.”

                The Iron Bull rolled his eyes and shoved Krem again, but the fellow soldier didn’t seem to mind it. “You’re never going to earn your stripes crying and running from danger, Krem Corn-”

                “For fuck’s sake.”

                “- and I _really_ want to fight that dragon. So how about you give the rest of the Chargers the heads-up for me, _just in case_?” He departed before Krem could reluctantly agree. The interest in drinking had disappeared with the promise of a possible dragon fight. Thirst replaced with hunger.

                He meandered up towards the main entrance of Skyhold’s grand keep, and yet he found himself stalled. There, by the training yard, was the saarebas and her Dalish friend. Katari was well-focused on training the finer movements of her staff-swings.

                Vivienne and Dorian were prone to elegant twirls and flourishes, the intimidating styles of their people. Even Solas, though he would admit nothing, had some of the more classical Dalish stances when he allowed magic to rip through his staff. But the Qun and Tal-Vashoth had no form to pass down, leaving only an amalgamation of things once-observed. Her references were things Bull recognized. The tilt of her wrists learned from Fereldan apostates, grip unusually firm as a result. Her footing was something more rough and semi-ritualistic, akin to the Chasind and Avaar. Only her expression was original, showing nothing of rage or anger or any intensity. There was only calm, the serenity and the fearlessness that comes on the shoulders of a woman who has seen all the horrors of adversity without blinking.

                It was sturdy, but he could spot every hole, every weakness in her abilities. Her forms had few blind spots, but an abundance of places she could not hit easily or quickly. There was stiffness and upswings that were suitable for melee but disadvantaged for range. And from behind? So many spots to slip a knife and destroy the threads of vitality that kept a qunari alive.

                The elf threw a rock at his head and it bounced off his left horn. “How about you screw off?!” the little thing called out, making a rude hand-sign at the man. Katari noticed the attention and halted all her work. A shame, really.

                Iron Bull laughed. “Whoa there, elf. I was just daydreaming. Not hurting anything, I swear.”

                Harel snorted, then looked at Katari expectantly. The mage looked from person to person, nervous and silent, then finished with a shrug. Harel snorted again. “Katari says ‘fuck you’!”

                “Um… I don’t think she did?” Especially considering how suddenly nervous she was, waving her hands at Harel, shaking her head, shivering.

                “Eh?” Harel looked at her friend, nodded, and then yelled at Bull again. “She _wants_ to fuck you!”

                “No!” Katari pushed the elf to the ground as the other two involved parties laughed. Bull could have bet hundreds on her face being tomato-red under that mask. Katari kicked Harel a little before coming up to Bull. The man tensed. “No, sorry. No. I am sorry.”

                “I didn’t _actually_ think you wanted to sleep with me!” He laughed and crossed his arms, genuinely smiling at this walking, breathing liability. She could have been worse, he supposed.

                “I meant for the words. No, um… The words from the walk. I…” Katari made circles with her hand, trying to sort out how she wanted to say things. “I called you ‘misunderstanding’. I am sorry. Ben-Hassrath are not wrong mostly.”

                He raised a brow. “Ya know, if you’re having a problem getting your point across, you _could_ just tell me in Qunlat. I’m still fluent.”

                “Not me.” Katari fidgeted. “Not in years. Saarebas should not speak. All words, all language… Difficulties.” She realized she had been looking at his face, and so turned her gaze to the ground and her inward-turned feet.

                Iron Bull kept a gentle smile but sighed. “I’ve seen it before; you’re nothing unusual there, Tal-Vashoth.” He thought about reaching and brushing his hand over her shoulder, something universal to tell her she was not so disliked. But what was the consequence of petting an untamed dog? He could get himself hurt, or worse. He could actually start to like her. “You weren’t so wrong. I just didn’t much like the idea of a Tal-Vashoth lurking on my blind side and plotting against me.”

                Katari shook her head. “No! No, I wouldn’t.” She frowned. “I know Ben-Hassrath. Ben-Hassrath kill. I fear you _more_.”

                “I…” She probably did. A stray dog had as much to fear from the person approaching it as the reverse. “Yeah. I get it, yeah.” Iron Bull chuckled. “Your friends are planning to go after a dragon, right? If you all die, the Chargers get second dibs, and your equipment.”

                Katari scoffed. “Sons of Keer do not fail. We are professional. Dragons?” She spit on the ground. “I will eat dragon heart.”

                “Hah! If you do, I’d pay to see it.” He slapped her arm without realizing. But Katari seemed not to realize, either. “Say, you guys didn’t mention ever actually fighting dragons before. Don’t tell me you’ve been holding back on those epic stories! Come on now, what’s the truth.”

                “ _Two_ dragons,” Katari insisted. “One last Spring. Harel was… Harel?” She looked but the elf was gone. “Where?”

                Iron Bull smirked. “I hate to break it to you, but your companion there got distracted by some sweet ass and wandered away.” He motioned towards the battlements, where the dark-skinned warrior was stalking a completely unaware Commander Cullen. “Didn’t think she was the sort to go for humans.”

                “Harel likes them. Calls them ‘Shems’.”

                “… Yeeaaah, that’s not a good thing to call humans. It’s an insult.”

                “Insult?” She frowned. “Oh. Bad Harel.” Katari shook her head. “Nevermind. No Harel. Dragons. The best fights are dragon. I stop their flying, then everyone strikes. Good strategy. But bad when too long. Hit hard first, lose strength fast.”

                “See, that’s the kind of tactic your leader needs to watch out for. It’s fine for hunting the little ones and poisonous wyverns, but dragons are long-haul beasts.” He motioned with his hands, lengths of time, and amounts of power. Iron Bull weaved his intentions with sound and body. “Dragons have tough skin, so just hitting them isn’t enough. Having the right equipment for the job helps, sure, but it’s like scraping a stone wall with an axe. If you want a chance, you gotta play it out and find its weak point. Usual Ben-Hassrath stuff, but for other people it can get tricky. Usually, it’s the belly.”

                “Back of the neck, spine.” Katari motioned on her own body, reaching around the collar. “Try to paralyze it. Wyrm likes that better. Fast time.”

                “And dangerous as fuck!” Iron Bull laughed. “You’ll lose limbs like that.”

                “Varg broke his nose…”

                He smirked. “Again, if you eat a dragon heart, in that tavern there, in front of everybody, I’ll load you up with gold. I’ll fill your whole collar with it.”

                She smiled, crooked teeth and all. “If you eat one…” She thought.

                “If _I_ eat a dragon heart, I want you to take off your collar and mask.” But _why_? Why had he said that? Sure, there was a mild curiosity as to what she had under there, and no amount of study was substitute for knowing the truth. Were her shoulders sloped? What did it look like in that ridge where her horns met her forehead? What color were those eyes out of shadow, in the light of day?

                Katari only continued to smile before excusing herself, off to keep Harel from sexually harassing one of the Inquisition’s advisors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are currently about half-way through this story. I hope you are enjoying, and would very much appreciate comments, criticisms and suggestions.


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